


Michael and the Cage

by skybites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Lucifer, Angst, Brothers, Cage Trauma, Fights, Gen, Lucifer in the Cage, Lucifer's Cage, Madness, Michael-centric, One Shot, References to Depression, Self-Doubt, Serious Injuries, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybites/pseuds/skybites
Summary: The archangel Michael is stuck in the Cage with his brother Lucifer and Sam Winchester for quite some while. He doesn’t take it well - in fact, he’s doing worse than the human, and is insane by Season 11.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: possible ooc-ness, abusive behaviour (aka. Lucifer in all his glory), some light(?) madness, perhaps something trigging for people with depression (not sure though)
> 
> It’s not beta’d, so, please, bear with me if I screwed up too badly. I just wanted to write that.

 The Cage was designed to hold in Lucifer, and Michael, by far, was nothing like his brother. First and foremost he was a soldier and a good son, following orders like every angel should without the interference of emotions.

And yet, it was not enough. It had not been enough to convince Dean Winchester. It had not been enough to defeat the Morningstar in the battle they had been destined to fight since the Fall. ( _He_  had not been enough, a voice whispered to him, one of many in the Cage, one of many surfacing from Hell and one of many he ignored.)

The Winchesters had ruined it. They had ruined  _everything_.

Perhaps that simply was the nature of humanity and their frail emotions they could not handle. Perhaps that was why his father had given up on them as well, but it was still their fault God had left in the first place. It all was man’s fault.

His brother glanced over to him, still mending his wounds from their last fight and grimacing. Once it had been a smile before his vessel’s body and brain had been eaten away by Hell’s fire. Humans. So fragile. So easy to break. And yet their minds bore such strength.

The archangel had to admit he was impressed by the younger Winchester’s efforts and success since he knew just too well it was not an easy task to overthrow Lucifer even for a split second. Long enough to trap him in here once more was, mainly, madness as well as an impossibility.

The righteous kind of hell was here anyway, his blazing wings embracing him as he picked out loose feathers and caressed the cuts.

Michael was not proud to say he was capable of injuring him – they both were, but he had never wanted to fight and hurt his little brother. From the start Lucifer had been different, their father’s favourite, the only angel to gain free will so easily.

He could not have wished for anything worse. Free will was what had tore apart his home and family and free will was what had driven the humans to disobey and free will also was what had caused their captivity.

Their prison was not big enough to hold them. Neither of them could stand with fully extended wings, so tiny it was. His own already hurt since he had to crease them all the time. It was humiliating for the greatest archangel of all, but the fact that it was the same for the rebel gave him the only comfort he got and would get for as long as they were stuck here.

The blood caulked his feathers while drying. The flames were everywhere.

He missed Heaven’s cold breeze and his other brothers; he missed Raphael and Gabriel though the latter was dead and his blood on Lucifer’s hands. Humans. Pagan gods. All their fault.

Sam Winchester made the mistake of looking at the fallen angel. He snapped his fingers with a low growl, again torturing him. Why did he take such pleasure in it? What was so amusing about inflicting pain on others?

Michael understood its occasional necessity, yes, but the Cage did that work astonishingly well by itself.

Had Lucifer always been so cruel? Had he not seen it before? Had he not seen what a monster his brother was? Had … Had Lucifer always been like that?

The nagging doubts had come with time, and the longer they were kept here, the louder the voices inside his head got. By now, some already were screaming at him, phrasing all those thoughts he had not dared putting into words before.

How did his brother do it? How did he stand it? Did he even feel the same way? Did the loving, caring, protective brother he had known even still exist? He would never know.

Gradually, he turned away, much rather watching the flames. No matter where, fire was all the same – hot and blistering, burning and hungry and as dangerous as it was fascinating. The Morningstar had always been the latter, but he was not all the same, oh no. The Lucifer he knew would never have killed one of their own. Never. Or would he?

No.  _No_. He would not. He would not have had if he had not been forced to – but Lucifer was a monster.

No. He was his brother, a troubled child that did not know better since their father had spoilt him. Yes. Yes. That was right, that was proper, that sounded good.

That was what he wanted to believe. The truth was an ugly thing and it was sitting across the Cage, with blazing wings and a sharp grin and pure evilness. No emotions. A fallen archangel more of an actual one than he was himself. It was pathetic. He was pathetic.

It was not the humans’ fault, it was his alone. Yes. He was responsible for all of this because he had not been able to be a better brother, to care more and protect his family. It had been his duty, had it not? It had been his duty as oldest to protect them, had it not? He had failed – he had failed at his job and he had clearly failed them, his family. Lucifer, Gabriel, Raphael. His father. Everyone. No wonder how things had turned out.

No.  _ **No**_. This was the Cage talking, not him, this were the voices in his head, all whispering at the same time so he could not hear himself think. It was wrong. That was not him.

Yes. Yes. That was right. That was not him, Michael was on the right track, he just had to hold on to that thought and take a deep breath, pull his wings closer and  _remember_  who he was – the greatest archangel of all. The best. The strongest.

The failure. The disappointment. The one his father had ignored most. Not the favourite. Not the most beautiful. Not the most loved. That was all Lucifer.

His feathers trembled, his jagged and torn and bloody feathers having lost most of its glory. Like he had. Michael was no longer a glorious name, no, all he could think of when hearing it – when hearing his own, God-given name – all he could think of was failure, blame, disappointment, wretchedness and ridiculousness.

A small whine left his lips as he crouched together in the corner of the Cage, the thick bars pressing hard into his back. The pain was nothing. He suffered worse from the injuries from Lucifer’s blades and those voices and the Cage itself.

Flinching at the sound of steps, Michael covered his head and squinted his eyes. The steps stopped right in front of him and he felt the heat clearly on his skin and wings and everywhere, the heat that could only belong to an angel. There was only one other here with him. Lucifer.

Effortlessly the younger one tore away his arms and buried his fingers deep in his vessel’s hair before pulling his head up. Having changed appearance, he was blond now, sand blond, short hair and skin blistering from the inside, with wrinkles and crimson eyes and black eyeballs, lips curved into an amused smile.

»Welcome to the Cage, brother,« he said in a voice that was anything but dead, nearly cheerful for him, happy,  _glad_ , »Do you like it here?«

»Let me go, Lucifer,« he demanded quietly and weakly.

»Oh, Michael,« Lucifer said with a wide grin, »We’ve just made it past the first one hundred years. We’ve got an eternity to go.«

»Make it stop,« the archangel pleaded, fingers digging into his brother’s arms as he got on his knees, » _Please, Luci_.«

»Why should I?« the fallen angel in front of him questioned in amusement, the monster he was and the monster he did not want that man to be since he wanted his little, beautiful,  _kind_  sibling, »The fun’s just starting.« And with that and a malevolent smile he drew his blade and forced it into his shoulder.

»Why should I stop?« the creature with the face of his brother asked along with all the other voices in his head in contempt, »Tell me, Michael, c’mon, don’t be shy now, dearest brother of all.«

He had no answer.

 The Cage was designed to hold in Lucifer. Michael was not Lucifer, so he broke.


End file.
